


Oi, Metchin

by LongLiveThePrincess



Category: Re:CREATORS (Anime)
Genre: F/M, but just a little bit of teen, mainly general audience, spoilers for lion king lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LongLiveThePrincess/pseuds/LongLiveThePrincess
Summary: 5 times she didn't agree to do + 1 time she did





	Oi, Metchin

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after all the events of Re:CREATORS, and Yuuya and Sho stay behind instead of going back. Man, this show really needs more love.

“Oi, Metchin, buy me a drink,” he says to her one night, motioning towards the vending machines. The full moon shines brightly on the two, catching in her silver locks, and the stars twinkle happily in the sky. The three of them who stayed behind - him, Sho, Meteora -, Sota, and the Creators had gone to watch a movie for an anniversary celebration of a year since their final battle. Magane had even stopped by at one point, but he had been more focused on the intense car chase scene occurring on screen than on the girl, so he had no idea when she disappeared, nor did he particularly care.

 

She spares him a sideways glance. “Only if you provide the money,” she replies, tone monotonous as always. She has long since stopped bothering attempting to dissuade him from calling her ‘Metchin’, and instead taking it in stride. However, he relishes in the occasional flicker of irritation that flits across her face when he catches her off guard.

 

He lets out a small _tcsh_ and rummages his pockets for money. Other from the jangle of the cold metal of his keys that touches his palm, nothing else resides in his pockets. “I'm all out,” he shrugs.

 

Cicadas chirp at the two of them. She looks at him evenly before turning away to the direction of the others. "Then no drink."

 

"Awh, come on," he protests, but she's already walking away. He's left to stare at the back of her retreating figure which leaves the otherworldly silvery glow illuminating her small and petite figure and into the warm but artificial and too-yellow street lamps.

 

* * *

 

  

“Oi, Metchin, hop on,” he yells at her. It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, and he is racing around the city alone on his motorcycle, enjoying the feel of the wind through his hair and the rumbling of the motor beneath his feet. He’d gotten into a portion of town filled with colours and shopping malls and people when he had noticed a familiar flash of silver locks turn around the corner. He turned that way, and was greeted with the sight of Meteroa in a white blouse and blue jeans with a shopping bag in her hand and a small smile on her face.

 

He sees a flash of surprise flit briefly across her face before disappearing along with the smile, and he grins. “Yuuya,” she says as a greeting while turning to face him completely.

 

He points to the back of his motorcycle. “Whaddya say? I can bring you to your home or wherever it is you want to go.”

 

She gives a quick once over of his motorcycle, before turning away. “I refuse,” she says.

 

“Why? not” He pouts, hoping that would change her mind somehow. He sees a flicker of amusement cross her eyes and smirks. “You have no helmet,” she says. “It is a safety hazard.”

 

“But I’m experienced,” he grins. “You won’t need a helmet so long I’m driving.”

 

She spares him an unimpressed glance. “I do not particularly trust you in that aspect.” She starts walking away from him. “Besides, the next shop I wish to go to is right here.” And she opens the glass doors and disappears.

 

He blinks for a second, before cursing at her silently and zooming off.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi, Metchin, go on a date with me,” he says. She’s wearing an oversized pink hoodie and white shorts while stirring a brown mix with a spatula. Ingredients are haphazardly strewn all over the grey marble tabletop. He’d dropped by her apartment, picking her lock easily and sliding in without invitation. It’s been a boring day and he’s looking for something to ease the feeling of restlessness.

 

“I do wish you would simply ring the doorbell,” she says, not even bothering to look at who it is. “I could have mistaken you for a thief and engaged you in a fight.”

 

He snorts. “Please, like you’d win.”

 

And here she pauses in her stirring and turns to look at him. “Oh?” She turns back to the bowl.

 

“Well yeah, of course,” he replies.

 

“Mhm,” She hums.

 

He frowns. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?“

 

“I have no time to go on a date right now,” She ignores his question. “As you can see, I’m in the middle of something very important right now.”

 

He looks at the cluttered kitchen tabletop incredulously. “You’re baking.”

 

“And you’re interrupting,” she replies dismissively. “Go find somebody else to amuse you.”

 

“Tcsh. You’re no fun,” he sighs. He glares at the mixing bowl indignantly like it’s offending him. “Loosen up a bit one day, will you?”

 

He’s gone before she can reply.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi, Metchin, marry me,” he says, resting his chin on his folded arms, leaning on the back on the sofa where she rests on. To his left, he hears Sota choke on his drink but pays him no attention. The three of them and Marine are having a sleepover together in Marine’s house ( _“Sleepover?” He sneered when he first heard it. “Yes, it’ll be fun!” Marine cheered, and threw her arms up in the air. “Count me out,” he snorted, turning away. “Meteroa will be there,” Marine said, with a strange tone in her voice. He paused and turn back to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked. “Nothing,” she replied with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “So, are you coming?” She asks. His only reply is a tcsh as he walks away, and she cheers behind him._ ), and they are currently doing their own things as they wait for Marine to finish cooking. Sota is looking at who-knows-what on his phone, and Meteroa is reading a book.

 

“I decline your proposal,” she replies without hesitation.

 

“Oh, that quick response! I’m wounded. I had the wedding all planned out,” he quips sarcastically.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sota’s eyes bulge out and he barely resists a laugh at the younger boy’s face.

 

“I am at the climax of the book. Please leave.”

 

“Oh?” He peers over her shoulder and begins reading the words her eyes are furiously scanning aloud. “His lips move over hers passionately, as if pouring out all the emotions he had bottled for all the years out into that kiss. His hands wander underneath her shirt and she lets out a moa-“

 

Meteora slams the book shut, and his face splits into a huge grin. “Wow, Metchin, I didn’t know you liked such thi-“

 

“Leave!” She yells at him, her calm composure cracking for the first time that he’s ever seen, and hits him over the head with the book. He laughs, running away into the hallway, and she immediately gives chase. “Even though you seem like such a good girl on the outside, I guess that inwardly you were always so naughty, eh?”

 

“Get out!” She yells. As her arm reaches out to try to hit him on the head with the book again, he grabs her wrist and pushes her against the wall, and holding her wrist above her head.

 

He drinks in the sight of her for a second. Her normally neat and tidy hair is rumpled and out of place, and a blush is furiously staining her cheeks. She’s panting, out of breath, and her eyes are shifting around and panicked.

 

He leans downwards, his forehead nearly touching hers. “You know,” he purrs, smirking, and brushes the back of his hand against her tomato cheeks. “If you ever want to experience something like that, I’ll gladly make time for you, dear Metchin.”

 

A dark look crosses over her face and before he knows it, she delivers a surprisingly strong uppercut with her free hand to his chin.

 

“Ow!” He hisses in pain and stumbles back, letting her go. “Now, Metchin, I understand that you might be embarrassed, but there is no need to be shy.”

 

She punches him again.

  

* * *

 +1

 

They’re having their weekly movie night, the two of them. They’re camped in Meteora’s house, a bowl of popcorn in each of their laps and a blanket over the two, feet nearly touching but not quite. Today is Meteroa’s turn to choose the movie, and she’s chosen an animated classic, her favourites. She’s chosen Lion King, and she’s watching it in earnest. He’s long grown bored of it, losing interest after Simba’s father was killed and Simba started singing with some pigs and meerkats or something. Instead, he watches her.

 

There’s a certain innocence in the way she watches the film, and a childlike curiosity in her eyes. He finds it endearing of how much of a child she looks like, engrossed as she is in the film, and her delight which quirks the corners of her lips upwards. Her body is relaxed, posture slightly slouched and legs crossed while an oversized tee hangs loosely on her shoulders.

 

His heart gives a little squeeze in his chest, one that has become more and more common these days. “Oi, Metchin,” he says, the words falling from his lips without his permission.

 

She turns her head towards him, the childlike wonder in her eyes and the quirk of her lips never fading.

 

“Kiss me,” he says, his voice lower and more honest than he would have liked it to be.

 

She rolls her eyes and his heart sinks into his chest. He’s messed things up with his nonsensical talk. He’s about to open his mouth to apologise, to attempt to pass it off as a joke, to do _something_ -

 

“You silly man,” she says, and grabs his shoulders and pulls him down into a kiss.

 


End file.
